


The Dangers of Epicurean Delights

by KitsuneKami



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, But is he really..., Fluff, Horny Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneKami/pseuds/KitsuneKami
Summary: Crowley finds that watching Aziraphale eat is a very dangerous exercise of willpower. How can a demon resist such heavenly wiles when it is so willingly offered to him (quite literally) on a silver platter?orWhere Aziraphale is completely oblivious to how his mouth can be such a compelling distraction to a pining and horny demon... or is he?





	1. Oysters

Rome, 41 A.D.

  
The first time Crowley realized that he had a problem at hand was the year Caligula reigned.

He had agreed to accompany Aziraphale to one of the teeming _tabernae_ to sample these new 'oysters' begrudgingly. At the time, their meetings have been separated by several centuries , and never had it been over food. Wine, and all manner of crude alcoholic drinks, yes, but this was the first time they had sat down to eat together.

He had learned that he quite liked the angel's fussy company, and was a worthwhile companion in this manner. Crowley had been very careful to rein in his growing attraction to the blonde haired creature since they had talked at the garden. Spending too much time with him in close quarters would be dangerous. A careful distance, he told himself, should be enough. A careful selection of topics to discuss, and a careful and studious observance of **Not Touching**, with capital letters.

His eyes, though, never got the memo.

Behind his darkened eyeglasses, Crowley watched Aziraphale eating with a fascination that bordered on hunger. His eyes cut a slow and sensuous path over the angel's enraptured face. Watched as his celestial counterpart carefully slurped up another oyster from its shell. He stared at the angel's lips and his pale throat, how the Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Crowley imagined snaking his tongue over that delicious expanse of skin.

"I say, Crowley, these are just _delightful!_"

The angel's voice did nothing to break the spell as the demon watched Aziraphale lift another half shell to his lips. His counterpart sipped delicately at the lemony brine and let slide another fleshy morsel into his mouth. Crowley watched his pink lips purse with barely contained joy as he chewed. He swallowed once more and Crowley allowed his eyes to follow the invisible path from his jaw, down a throat he longed to touch. If the angel noticed any of his staring, he was gracious enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Are you not having any yourself?" Aziraphale asked as he paused to drink his sweet white wine.

Crowley prised his stare away from the angel's lips and looked up. "Too messy. No." He said simply.

The angel shrugged but found no offense. "Not even a little one?" He picked up another shell and primly slurped up the oyster and its briny juices. "They're very easy to eat. You just suck the oyster up and drink its liquor."

Crowley gulped at the angel's words and watched with renewed interest. He had to fight down an intense urge to swipe his thumb across those plump lips. Aziraphale took no notice of the demon's feral stare and licked his lips as he wiped his fingers on a cloth by his plate, had no inkling how the demon's pulse doubled in pace as he gazed at the pink tongue make an achingly slow and deliberate pass over lips tantalizingly wet and salty.

Crowley internally groaned. He was no stranger to carnal delights, and _oh satan_, how his body responded to Aziraphale's presence. How can temptation come so plainly and seethingly from a divine being?

As if to drive a point, Aziraphale wrapped his lips around his thumb and sucked up the juices that had dripped from a new oyster in hand. "Delicious." The angel closed his eyes and groaned,

\-- and _lord_ g-lucifer Crowley had to literally hold down his own hand nearest to Aziraphale. He visibly drew in a deep calming breath and this, the angel finally did notice.

"Are you alright Crowley?" Aziraphale leaned forward to peer at the demon who nearly leaped back from his seat.

"Fine! I'm fine angel damn it." Crowley grumbled, eyes now trained dutifully on anywhere but Aziraphale's lips and other parts thereafter.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Well then, if you're not having any," he gestured to the full plate in front of the demon "Would you mind terribly if I sucked off yours?"

The demon fell off his seat.


	2. Turkish Delights

Ottoman Empire - 1477

  
The second time Crowley found himself in such a precarious position was in _Saray-i Cedid-i Amire,_ seat of power of the Ottoman Empire. The sprawling palace was magnificent in its design, a fortress of both power and privacy to the ruling family. The third inner courtyard - saved only for the closest courtiers, dignitaries and guests - glowed golden with oil lamps and incense.

There were only few others in the massive room filled with exquisite pieces of art and textiles, the smell of spices and incense heavy in the air. The rest of those he surveyed in attendance were foreign dignitaries, trusted servants, entertainers and members of the sultan's rather substantial harem. Crowley was an esteemed guest of the sultan - along with a fair haired ethereal being next to him.

Beside him, Aziraphale was dressed opulently in the style of the fashions of the empire, lounging (quite proficiently, he noted) in the luxurious cushions. The soft pillows were plush, over sized and draped in expensive silks. On the walls, and floors hung intricately woven _kilim_ tapestries and rugs. At his elbow, an attendant held out various sweets. Crowley glanced over to Aziraphale, draped comfortably on his side on a large cushion; the angel looked right at home. And he was sampling the newest sweet offering from one of the handsome servants. The yellow light did nothing to hide the olive skinned man's fine features, one whom the angel was avidly talking to now.

Crowley did not like this in the slightest and narrowed his eyes at the the servant. Instantly, the man took his leave, with Aziraphale looking baffled, a jelly- like candy in hand. The angel turned to him and tutted, "I was talking to the nice young man."

The demon chose not to reply but smirked instead. Aziraphale had been earning far more attention than he had liked. They were all drawn to him like moths to the brightest flame and Crowley did not appreciate this development at all. One after another, women and men would approach his angelic companion and offer sweets and a spiced alcoholic drink Crowley knew only the sultan was privy to. And sometimes, the courtesans would smile and offer Aziraphale pleasures of a totally different nature, and in this, Crowley had made himself the self appointed gate keeper to Aziraphale's virtue.

"Angel, stop encouraging them." Crowley snapped as he saw yet another new servant, kneeling by Aziraphale holding a sticky slice of pastry to the angel's mouth. He watched in mute horror as Aziraphale took a small bite from the the man's hand, and patted a cloth daintily to his lips. Crumbs remained though from the thin layers of flaky pastry and much to Crowley's great irritation, the attendant raised a hand to brush away boldly at Aziraphale's chin. The angel giggled and patted away the hand and leaned forward to take another bite.

_Alright, that's it!_ Crowley thought indignantly and snatched away the pastry from the servant's hand. "Off you go. Thank you very much. Move along now." Crowley said with a barely contained growl.

Aziraphale actually had the gall to look shocked, Crowley noted. "Why did you send that nice lad away? He was ever so helpful." he pouted.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. Yeah, he was helpful alright. _Too_ helpful. The demon though grumbling to himself. "You can feed yourself perfectly fine angel."

"But it is quite the experience to be fed the wonderful confections" Aziraphale protested prettily, looking at the pastry (which one day, in the future will be named a "baklava") in Crowley's hand.

The demon sighed dramatically and against his better judgement took a seat by Aziraphale's enormous pillow and held out the sticky pastry. The angel practically beamed the light of heaven and leaned forward slowly. In his chest, Crowley felt his heart suddenly leap into a very enthusiastic gallop. He gulped and remembered telling himself to Never Touch, Never Risk - and yet here he was holding out a dessert out to the exact creature he told himself he should Never Want.

Time seemed to slow as he watched Aziraphale lean forward to take a generous bite out of his fingers, watched entranced as lips brushed feather light against his fingertips. Crowley had to remind himself to breathe as Aziraphale leisurely drew back, licking at the stray crumbs on his lips. Hand frozen in mid air, Crowley could only watch, unblinking as the angel tried to sup up whatever tiny crumbs left with his rather talented tongue, and when he was unsuccessful, used his thumb and popped that into his mouth as well. The delighted groan that came from Aziraphale only made Crowley's heart beat at an even faster clip.

"That is just glorious, Crowley!" Aziraphale says and leans forward once more to take another bite. Crowley watched, and fought down the flustered blush threatening to bloom on his skin with every ounce of willpower he had. He swallowed as this time, the angel took the remaining piece fully into his mouth, and pink lips smothered with honey and sweet oils sucked every so slightly, for the briefest of moments, one of Crowley's fingers.

Crowley had to take a long shuddering breath to collect himself, and bolt down firmly the immense impulse to trace those angelic lips and tease them apart; to press a finger or two into that most sinful mouth and watch Aziraphale suck on them.

"Crowley, my dear, stop staring at me." Aziraphale's voice swam into the gutter his mind has found itself in, and he forced himself to look up from that beautiful mouth and at the angel's burning blue eyes. "Do I have crumbs?" he said, oblivious to the lurid turn of thoughts Crowley was having.

He had to clear his throat, in some effort to rein in his fantasies. He _almost_ said there were indeed crumbs, just to have any old excuse to touch the angel. Crowley's stupid better judgement though finally kicked in and he said as casually as he can, "You're fine angel."

Aziraphale's glowing smile was ever so grateful, and Crowley had to remind himself that his mortal body needed to breathe. The angel, he realized was staring at his hands. "You have such wonderful fingers my dear, I am sure, so very talented."

The demon gulped, as his mind ground to a complete halt. Did Aziraphale know what he was really saying? The stupid innuendo his stupid reptilian brain insisted was there. But this was Aziraphale, an _angel_, he couldn't possibly understand... c-can he?

"Crowley," he heard Aziraphale snap his fingers, a fresh tray of exotic desserts appeared; colorful and sweet, doused in caramel and spices, pistachios and walnuts. Aziraphale leaned forward to whisper in Crowley's ear, his breath pressed hotly at the demon's skin, and Crowley's valiant yet flustered blush finally won the battle and bloomed up his neck and cheeks.

"Would you be a dear and put those talented fingers to good use?"

"Nggkk" Crowley stared, and stared some more, and really, he had been waiting for this for the last fifteen hundred years and, yes finally -- wait a minute -- Aziraphale pushed a baked roll of honeyed walnuts into his hand.

He looked down at the roll, he looked up to Aziraphale's expectant face, he looked back down at the dessert.

Ah. Fuck. He sighed, realizing what Aziraphale wanted. Crowley took a deep breath and resigned himself to a fate of never ending frustration.  
  
Never mind then.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any errors to period and culture correctness are entirely my own. I am fairly certain though that this is - er - fairly accurate. Thank you so much to everyone who reads, comments and kudoses, you make my little fangirl heart happy.


	3. Brioche

  
Paris, 1793

  
They find themselves in rue Montorgueil in front of a bright patisserie window filled to the brim with decadent desserts and pastries.

Crowley almost rolled his eyes, how _very_ Aziraphale. The angel was already eyeing the display with great interest, talking animatedly about this pastry and that. How they were made, what they were filled with, how long it took to make them.

"I thought we were going for crepes, angel." Crowley drawls with barely hidden fondness.

Aziraphale straightened up, "I know, I know, but I couldn't help it. Its on the way anyway and look! Look." he gushes as he points to a tray filled with golden little bricks of bread doused in what seemed like a sticky caramel, garnished with preserved fruits. "_Baba au rhum_!"

Crowley's brows knit, "Baba what?"

"Au rhum, my dear!" Aziraphale exclaims happily, "Baba au rhum. Its _brioche_. Rum soaked brioche!" he grabs Crowley's sleeve and quickly bustles them into the shop.

If it was impressive outside, it certainly was more so inside. Despite himself, Crowley peers over his tinted glasses to gawk at the rows and rows... and rows of sweet somethings. There were few people inside the shop, seeing that everybody was busy with the guillotine spectacle not too many blocks away, and he watched Aziraphale confidently stride up the counter to speak to the woman behind it.

Smirking, Crowley makes a slow pass to inspect everything with the interest of one committing to memory the things someone one might like to get for a certain special someone on certain special occasions. This patisserie will certainly be an easy stop for him if he needed to get anything for the angel. Not that he would. But, you know, just in case, he told himself.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale was calling him, and the demon looked up to see his companion waving him over. With a sigh he hoped sounded put upon, he saunters over to where Aziraphale was. "Jacque has been so kind to offer us a table in the back kitchen." he beams, "Come!"

Crowley could only watch himself and Aziraphale be led past the till and counter, through several doors and finally at simple wooden table off to the side of one of the kitchens. As soon as he sits next to Aziraphale, they are regaled by plates filled with wonderful pastries. Coffee is poured into small aging cups and the room fills with a brightness he could only attribute to Aziraphale's mood.

"Merci, merci beaucoup Monsieur Jacque." the angel says to the man who has laid out the plates. He raises his brow towards Crowley. "Oh!" Aziraphale suddenly realizes he hasn't introduced the demon and he is flustered for a moment. Crowley, though, couldn't understand what ever for Aziraphale could be floundering about. "Monsieur Jacque, this is my - ah - colleague, Monsieur Crowley. Crowley, Jacque Stohrer, son of the founder of this fine establishment."

The baker offers his hand, "Enchanté, Monsieur Crowley."

Crowley stares at the hand for a moment and shakes it begrudgingly. "Likewise."

If the baker was ruffled, he didn't show it. "Monsieur Fell is a most valued friend of my father's. Please, enjoy. We have a few new things here I would like you to to try." He gave a small nod, "Do give me your thoughts later?" he says then leaves the pair at the table.

"His father was one of Louis' pastry chefs." Aziraphale says, as if that explained everything. He picks up a spoon and begins to pick at a tart.

"Louis. You mean King Louis?" Crowley watched as Aziraphale drew the spoon filled with cream and custard to his mouth. His thoughts on which Louis it was quickly began to drift off as he watched Aziraphale suck daintily at the silver spoon, determined to get every bit of cream. "... the 14th? 15th?" he muttered as he saw that now all too familiar blissful look on Aziraphale cross his cherubic face - a look regrettably, Crowley would really like to see in a completely different setting. Something which involved sweets _and_ a bed, his very helpful mind added.

"15th. Louis the XV." Aziraphale answers at length, and spoons another helping of yellow custard into his mouth. He groans, and it sends a bolt right to the juncture between Crowley's legs. "Their tarte du citron is positively _divine_." Aziraphale gushed as his eyes shut close in happiness.

Crowley watches and forces himself to take a sip of bitter coffee. It was as if he was transported back to that evening in old Turkey, and he was determined not to make a fool of himself. He shifted in his seat, coffee in hand, and though he willed his eyes to look away, they defiantly did not.

He watched on silently, eternally thankful to his dark glasses to hide his eyes; and his loose coat and the table for the new state of affairs between his legs. Crowley swallows dryly as he watches Aziraphale sample one dessert after another with that wretched spoon. The angel would drive it into his mouth, then would linger, savoring all the tastes and textures, and finally would release the lucky silver cutlery with a soft pop. He gives it a long thorough lick to make sure he has gotten every tiny bit before repeating the process all over again.

All the while, Aziraphale made all these tantalizing noises of delight and pleasure that bordered on the obscene. Crowley watched on quietly, enjoying this sweetest of slow tortures to his senses. He looked on as Aziraphale picked up one of the baba au _somethings_ and took a bite. He watched as pink lips wrapped around the slice of pastry in a tantalizing 'o' shape, watched as the angel chew carefully then swallow it down with a sound that left Crowley's insides wanting for more.

"Taste?" Aziraphale was saying, he realized, and he forces his gaze to the rum soaked cake topped generously with cream held in the angel's hand.

"Nah," He began to decline - really, dangerous waters here, with Aziraphale was so close, holding that damn thing to his face, fuck, _how did he get so close?_, Crowley's mind screamed at him. "No tha --" he tried again but found his mouth full of the stupid brioche baba rum thing. He bit down with nothing else to do, and watched Aziraphale withdraw with the most innocent look on his face. He grumbled as he chewed, it was too sweet, not something he would have liked, and he gulped it down miserably.

Aziraphale peered at him, "So, what did you think?" he asked hopefully, sticky fingers still in the air.

"Don't like it."

"Really?" Aziraphale pouts - and satan help him - Crowley's 'interest' in the proceedings returned in full force. He thanked the fates once more for the damned table and he dared not swing his body to turn towards the angel fully lest he reveal the bulge in his pants. "Perhaps if you tried some of the syrup?"

Crowley - again - began to decline, the coffee cup trembled in his hand. But, as soon as he opened his mouth to say no, Aziraphale slips the pad of his fingertips past his lips. His mind grinds to a screeching halt as he flails in his head. He can only give the finger a very cursory suck with his brain reeling from what was happening before it was withdrawn and Aziraphale was again looking at him expectantly.

"So?"

"So what?" Crowley heard himself say. Did _that_ just happen? _What the what?!_

Aziraphale sighed as if he was talking to a child, completely unaware of Crowley's state of mind. "So did you taste the rum?"

Crowley's mind drew a blank. He tasted the syrup and the salt from Aziraphale's skin, tasted the soft, soft fingertips, how the angel's finger tasted so very nearly like a sliver of heaven. He swallowed thickly. Oh how this memory would plague him for the next few centuries. "Yeah. Sure. Rum." he manages to grit out.

The angel beams, finally satisfied, "Wonderful!"

Crowley is paralyzed, he realizes, stricken w ith an awful large bolt of lust. It was coursing through his veins, and he didn't think he could deal with any more lest he discorporate from sheer arousal when Aziraphale leans forward once more so quickly he has no time to flee. The angel deftly swipes a thumb over his lips and places it, thumb - cream, syrup and all - into his cherubic mouth.

The demon could only stare on, mind simultaneously blank and flooded with so many sinful, sinful thoughts. How can Aziraphale do this to him? How can he not know what he was doing to him?

Aziraphale was staring at him, as he sucked his thumb clean. "Delicious."

Crowley dropped his cup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update, life has been quite busy. But rest assured, the other chapters are all currently in the works. They just need to be properly written out. 
> 
> Jacque Stohrer is the only extra-fictional character. Everything else is researched and period-correct. I just couldn't find the names of Nicolas Stohrer's children. 
> 
> Thank you always for everyone who reads, comments and leaves kudos. My heart is full.


	4. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns to fight back. 
> 
> Sort of.

St. Louis, Missouri - 1904

  
  
The next time they met over food was in the Americas. Both had a long and comprehensive list of blessings and temptations to attend to that spanned nearly the entirety of the rugged continent. It had been wiser for both to go and then split the work once there.

Crowley walked next to Aziraphale disdainfully, cane in hand. Above them an arc that proudly proclaimed:

> _ **"The World's Fair!" ** _  
_ **The Louisiana Purchase Exhibition** _

  
It was humid, muddy and very crowded. While the mortals ignored them by the simple rule that supernatural beings were harder to notice, the press of people around them still penned them in. The humans only walked by a small margin away from them and Crowley did not like it. This place was mucky as well, and he glared at the mud threatening to stick onto his snake skin boots. The mud knew what was good for it though and obediently stayed away from the demon. He tipped his very fashionable derby hat down to Aziraphale next to him. The angel was as pristine as if he'd been walking on heaven's sidewalk.

"Why are we here, angel?" Crowley grumbled, cane tucked under an arm.

Aziraphale was walking purposefully as if his feet knew exactly where they needed to go "Ice cream." he answered simply.

Crowley smirked but found that his feet wanted to follow Aziraphale anyway. He rolled his eyes. "Ice cream."

"Yes. Ice cream." Aziraphale answers serenely. "I have had a very long and tiring trip across this blasted country and I believe I could use something delicious and cold to nibble on."

_I_ am delicious and cold blooded, Crowley thought bitterly but didn't open his mouth.

He followed Aziraphale through the maze of vendors and exhibits until they came upon a couple of booths swarmed by more humans. Crowley grumbled under his breath.

One booth was selling ice cream in flavors; _"Never Before Seen In The Americas" _while the other was showing off these waffle pan cakes that were so thin that they could be eaten like crisps. The vendors were working hand in hand to cater to the long queues.

Crowley, despite himself, was intrigued. "What are they making angel?"

Aziraphale looks on happily. " I am unsure, but look! The ice cream holders are _edible_!" He walks forward and queues up.

The line miraculously moves forward quite quickly and soon enough Aziraphale returns to Crowley with a pair of waffles shaped like cones, filled with ice cream. He gave one to the demon who rolls his eyes and feigns disinterest. He had a nagging feeling that this treat did not bode well for him. Largely because Aziraphale (by now, Crowley was well versed in the angel's inadvertent wiles and temptations) liked to eat everything with singular attention and gusto, oblivious to the world. He knew what was in store: frozen treats, melting, and licking. Copious amounts of licking. And, well, Crowley still hadn't gotten over that evening in Paris.

Crowley grimaced and steeled himself; sure that this was about to become a very interesting yet frustrating afternoon indeed.

They found a park bench and sat down to sample their ice creams.

"I got you coconut!" Aziraphale happily declares as they settle in, and gets to work eating up the quickly melting ice cream in his own hand.  
  
The humidity was certainly helping things along and Crowley did not miss Aziraphale's darting pink tongue lave that lucky - *sonuvabitch* - cone. He could either worship or strangle the inventors of this blasted new treat. Seriously. He really couldn't decide yet though, with his brain too busy committing everything to memory. Aziraphale takes a particularly long lick from the bottom, all the way up the cone and he shudders. Crowley pries his eyes from that angelic mouth and looks away. He holds his ice cream grimly, and uses a minor demonic miracle to keep it from melting. "What did you get, angel?" he says in a vain attempt to take his mind away the temptation happening next to him.

Aziraphale hums in bliss. "Vanilla."

"Vanilla. We come out all the way here for you to get vanilla." Crowley huffs, feigning annoyance. He turns back to Aziraphale and sees the angel staring back at him happily. His heart suddenly thumped loudly in his chest. The late afternoon light glowed yellow despite the dreary weather, and it made Aziraphale's pale blonde curls glow alight. Bright blue eyes regarded him from a face he dreamed of far too much, a beaming smile that played on soft lips he longed to touch. It was enough to take his breath away.

"Everyone starts with vanilla." Aziraphale was saying matter-of-factly, Crowley realizes, as he is pulled away from his reverie.

"Then you work your way up to something more adventurous." he smiles and glances at Crowley's ice cream in hand. "Mind if I taste?"

Crowley finds himself nodding, even if *really*, he shouldn't. He knows its his own undoing, but he nods anyway, and releases the miracle holding the molecules of the ice cream together on pure impulse. The frozen confection begins to melt immediately and he watches hungrily as Aziraphale leans over his lap, precariously close, to sample it.

They are so close, Crowley notices. Aziraphale's face just inches from his. He swallows, thinking that with just one small movement he can plant a kiss on the angel's face, plunge his hand into white golden hair, press his nose right there in the crook of Aziraphale's neck and never leave. Oh how he wants, Crowley mentally groans and pulls himself back. But no. No, no, no, **_no_**. He tells himself. The angel will never want it, and Aziraphale may Fall.

Crowley carefully pulls away, already berating himself for so foolishly doing this temptation to himself. Practically on his lap, Aziraphale had been happily eating away at both his own ice cream and Crowley's, blind to Crowley's internal conflict. The angel was humming in contentment, and he allows Aziraphale to take one more lick before a sudden surge of impishness comes over him. Crowley pulls back the ice cream in his hand as Aziraphale tries to take a second lick. Aziraphale gives him an unamused sidelong look, and leans forward once more, even closer and Crowley pulls it away once more.

"Honestly." Aziraphale pouts.

The demon raises a teasing brow and offers the ice cream once more. The angel narrows his eyes suspiciously but leans forward anyway. Crowley manages to hide his sly grin until he presses the melting ice cream, waffle cone and all into Aziraphale's face. The angel makes an undignified yelp as he drops his own ice cream from sheer surprise.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cries, and it was all the demon could do to rein in his laughter. He has never seen the angel so disheveled or caught off guard. He is still laughing when the angel pulls out a handkerchief, "Seriously Crowley. Still not past the childish antics I see." Aziraphale tuts. "And look! We wasted the ice cream!" he says in despair.

Crowley finally takes pity on Aziraphale, "Fine, fine, come here." he says good naturedly. He forgets himself as he takes the kerchief and wipes Aziraphale's nose and chin, and then, without really thinking about it swipes his thumb at the corner of the angel's mouth and tastes the drop of ice cream. "It _does_ taste like coconut." he says, actually thinking about the flavor, not realizing that Aziraphale had gone very, very still.

It takes him a few moments to notice Aziraphale was staring back at him, quite frozen and he wonders why. Crowley noticed though that Aziraphale's blue eyes were so soft, dewy, watching him with a sentimentality he has never seen before.

The Snake of Eden suddenly felt the world slowing down, all the sounds and smells blurring away as he stares back at the once Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Crowley felt himself moving, ever so slowly, infinitesimally, his head turned just so, meaning to press his lips to the angel's. All the air from his lungs seemed to have fled as his heart pounded in his chest. Crowley leaned closer, lost in the moment and almost afraid, the angel's name tumbles out of his lips in a hushed whisper. So, so close, he could feel Aziraphale's unsteady breath -

"_Oof!_"

Something hits his legs, and he hisses - surprised and enraged - Crowley scrambles back and so does Aziraphale, and lord satan help him he was going to _kill_ the bastard who dared ruin this, and... and -

"I am so sorry sir." came a small voice.

Crowley blinks and his vision clears, and he sees a little girl in a heap around his legs. She must have tripped over them, he realizes, anger suddenly gone as he huffs and helps her up. He tucks in his long limbs and watches her paw at her knees and skirts in an attempt to brush off the mud and dirt, an ice cream and cone was melting on the wet grass. He lets out a long, frustrated sigh, and taps her shoulder with his cane gently. "Do be careful next time child."

She nods and gives a sad sidelong glance at her ice cream.

"Here." Crowley hears himself say as he hands her a small stack of miracled ten-dollar notes. "Go buy yourself a new one."

The little girl jaw drops as she receives the money. She looks at it in her hands for a moment, and then launches herself into Crowley's arms. She gives him a tight hug, "Thank you sir. Thank you, thank you!" She then pulls back with a toothy grin, gives Aziraphale a shy wave and then runs off towards the direction of the ice cream vendor.

"Mighty ni -" Aziraphale begins with a small smile as he watches her go.

"Don't say it." Crowley warns. "I am not nice." he pretends to straighten up his jacket as he snaps his fingers and all the ice cream messes are gone. He thinks for a moment of what he had almost done soberly, and what a mistake that would have been. He stands up stiffly, cane in hand. He can't bear to look at Aziraphale, can't risk showing how much emotion was threatening to spill over from his careful facade. He stands up and tips his hat to Aziraphale. 

"I need to go. I'll see you back in London, angel." Crowley says and walks briskly back the way they came.

Aziraphale sighs sadly. He watches Crowley trudge away. He stares in that direction long after the demon is gone. He suddenly didn't feel like having ice cream anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this with the heavy influence of an RP with a friend Ellis Finney. She practically co-wrote this. I really have to thank her for the amazing insight she has of Crowley's personality. So happy birthday Miss Ellis, much love, girl! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads, leaves a comment and give me Kudos. Ya'll make my heart happy. I promise happy smexy times ahead ;)


	5. Birthday Cake

Dowling Estate, [undisclosed], England - 2019   
  
  
  
The moment Aziraphale slid into the Bentley's seat next to him, Crowley knew it wasn't a good idea.

For one, Aziraphale was covered in cake. He didn't know how he felt about icing on his Bentley's pristine upholstery, because;

Secondly, more importantly, Aziraphale was _covered_ in fucking cake. The angel was dripping temptation, smothered with white icing and vanilla crumbs, every inch of him covered with sweet sin.

Crowley swallowed thickly as his eyes raked over a body begging to be touched.

_Let me get that coat off you angel_ his mind thought, _Let me take that shirt too, trousers will have to go as well. Can't help these things you know. I'll get them properly cleaned for you, don't you worry._ Crowley's desires sang through his head. _Hmm? Ssssticky? Here, let me help you love..._ And then he would bend over his bare, flustered angel, and he would lick him clean and his hands would find --

The radio came on. Crowley snapped out of his daydream as Dagon's voice came through, asking about the hell hound.

Next to him, Aziraphale was pale, momentarily distracted as well from the task of cleaning himself. As soon as the radio went silent, he turned to Crowley.

"Wrong boy?"

Crowley nodded grimly, "Wrong boy."

They shared a meaningful look, and if Crowley hadn't been more concerned about losing the antichrist at the moment, a thrill of the angel looking at him so closely would have shot down his spine. As it was, mild panic was coursing through his body and it was (well, almost) enough to distract him from the fact that Aziraphale began to lick at his fingers nervously.

"What do we do now?" Aziraphale says while wiping away the drawn-on mustache on his upper lip. He looked out the window as he did so and did not see how Crowley's panicked expression turned into a rather concerned (and interested) stare at his mouth. There was quite a bit of scrubbing involved, and it has turned the angel's upper lip into a shade of pink Crowley found most interesting.

"Stop that." Crowley says irritably.

"Its.." _distracting_ his eager mind supplies, "...annoying" he says instead and tears his eyes away from the angel's lips and starts the car. "You're smearing cake all over my seats." Crowley says as irritably as possible in an attempt to cover up the inappropriate direction his mind was going.

He could practically feel Aziraphale rolling his eyes as he gives a very put upon sigh. "Of course. Because cake," he wipes off a lump of it from his arm with a finger and sticks it into his mouth, "is more important than us losing the Antichrist." The angels grimly mumbles.

  
He tugs at the bow tie around his neck and loosens it with nimble fingers. Crowley notices this with great interest and he glances at the angel for a moment. Just in time to see the tie come of, and a couple of buttons are popped open. He swallowed hard as he watched Aziraphale open his collar wider, fingers probing for cake and icing.

And every bit he had found went straight into the angelic mouth.

The soft pop of fingers as they were sucked in turn made Crowley stare. The small expanse of skin he had not seen since the late 1200's, as well as the gossamer-fine thatch of blonde chest hair, made Crowley forget he was driving.

"Watch the road, watch the road!" Aziraphale exclaims as he watches the street in horror. "You will get us killed!" Then he realizes something as he glances at Crowley. He thinks that that the deepening smirk on the demon's face implies his idiocy. "Well, inconveniently discorporated." He corrects himself, and looks away.

Of course, Crowley was smirking for an entirely different reason altogether. He turned his head back onto the road and tried his best to ignore the angel fussing over himself. "Miracle it away," Crowley says just as he spots Aziraphale wipe up icing from the knee up his thigh with a slow deliberate pass of his fingers. He fights down a delicious shudder and scowls.

"But the cream is divine." Aziraphale whines. "I don't want to waste any of it." he says as he looks over at Crowley.

And it is in this exact moment when the demon feels the angel's eyes on him. It is a slow, and deliberate perusal of - what he assumes anyway - the state of his clothes and it takes everything in him not to squirm. Aziraphale takes his sweet time assessing him as he drove, eyes raking over him inch by inch, and Crowley pretends it doesn't bother him. Of course, as a demon, he was really quite a good liar, so much so that he was also quite adept at lying to himself. Rather proficiently, in fact. He is so terribly bothered it was a miracle he was still driving on the right side of the road. 

"Mmm.." the angel hums next to him, still sticky, still ever so tempting. "Mmm hmmm..."

"Wot?" Crowley snaps, all the looking and staring and Mmmm-ing was making him uneasy. And very, _very_ horny.

"Oh nothing," Aziraphale says in a way that indicated it was _not_ nothing at all.

"What is it?" he hisses.

The angel pauses thoughtfully, there was a small sly smile that tugged at his lips. Crowley didn't see it though, he was too busy pretending to be unaffected. "I was just wondering why you didn't get any cake on you. That's all."

The demon smirks, "Why would you care if I didn't get any cake on me angel?"

"Well," Aziraphale purrs in that voice he often used when talking about his epicurean delights, "its a pity. That's what it is."

"I don't get it." Crowley says. He wasn't one to roll his eyes, but right now, he really wanted to. Of all the nonsensical, inane --

"I would have liked to eat it off you."

The double-take Crowley did would have caused whiplash if his corporation was capable of it.

Aziraphale grins at him, "And possibly, lick it off you. Whichever you prefer."

The Bentley screeches to a halt as Crowley hits the brakes out of pure instinct. The car behind them swerves and narrowly misses them by a hairline. It crashes into the sidewalk in a rather impressive display reminiscent of the movies, and the very irate driver, rolls out his door with a steady stream of profanities. 

"What?!"  
  
The angel quirks his eyebrow at Crowley devilishly. "What?"   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took many elements from the book version to incorporate into this chapter. It works so well! So it is part TV canon, part book canon, all mash up. 
> 
> Again , thank you so much for staying with me through this story. Life happens, and it hit me real hard the last few months. Looking forward to finishing Chapter 6, I can imagine both demon and angel are as well


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